Skies Over London
by KaibaCopter
Summary: A USUK fanfic written in mini-chapters. Like, seriously. Mini. Basically, England gets drunk and does quite a few things he probably shouldn't have.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First Hetalia fanfic, and of course, its USUK! This story will mainly be mini chapters, which are considerably smaller than my usual chapters. Anywhoo, wish me luck!**

**Skies Over London**

_**Chapter 1**_

The gloomy skies of London hung low overhead in the late afternoon. The sun was nowhere to be seen, as usual. The rhythm of the raindrops attacking the windowpane were synchronized with Arthur's sipping off the mouth of the slender bottle. As he drained it of every last drop of ale, his mind drifted far away from the rain or the empty bottle. He didn't notice his breath fogging against the cold glass as he gave a long, drawn-out sigh. It was just another day in England, so why did this day feel so particularly depressing?

The resonating sound of the phone ringing snapped Arthur back to reality. He turned to the phone, hesitating a moment, before he picked up the receiver.

"Ello? Thish ish Arthur..." He slurred.  
>"Hey, dude. It's America. Why weren't you at the meeting today?"<br>"I don't have to anshwer to _you_. I'm the United bloody Kingdom!"  
>"Uh, England, have you been drinking?"<br>"Don't tell me what to...uh...what to..."  
>"Do,"<br>"You too, you bloody git!"  
>"Dude, isn't it a bit early for the bars to open there?"<br>"I can drink whenever the bloody bleedin' hell I want to!"  
>"Not when you're supposed to come to a meeting, man!"<br>"Why don't you go run and tell my mummy then?" Arthur growled and threw down the receiver. Having missed the dial, he leaned back against the wall, unaware Alfred was still on the line.

"Do you need me to come over? Dude? Hello?" America asked, unaware his words were left unheard. "If you won't answer then I'm coming over anyway,"

The Brit slumped down to the floor, picking up a fresh bottle of ale he'd set there earlier and brought the bottle to his lips, his mind once again somewhere far away.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Maybe this one won't be as mini?**

**Skies Over London**

_**Chapter 2**_

Alfred fumbled to get his spare key while trying not to drop his umbrella as he stood on the stoop in front of England's house. Sure, he didn't expect to be greeted or anything with England being as drunk as he was, but it still would've been nice if he'd left the door unlocked. Lucky for him, he'd held onto the key he'd been given as a kid. After searching all his pockets, he finally found the little silver key. It was old but still in perfect condition, as he never really used it.

The door opened silently and Alfred waited a moment for Arthur to come along, saying something that made absolutely no sense at all, but nothing happened. There was total silence. America stepped inside, taking off his jacket as he did so. As he closed the door, he finally noticed there was the very faint sound of music coming from the other room.

"England?" He called, setting his umbrella by the doorway. There was a slurred response and England appeared in the doorway, wearing a very familiar red jacket...backwards.

"What do I owe this pleasure to?" England mumbled, swaying from side so side as he attempted to tip his hat but ended up spilling the open bottle of ale in his hand instead.

"What are you doing?"

"I haven't a bloody clue..."

"Dude, you're totally smashed,"

"I am not!" England grunted, touching the wall so he wouldn't fall over. "I've never been more shober in my life!"

America sighed, grabbing England and leading him to a chair to sit down so he wouldn't end up hurting himself or breaking something.

"You need to stop drinking," He mumbled, reaching for the bottle. England held it away from him, making America lean over him to reach for it. When he did, England grabbed his tie and pulled him into a kiss.

America's face went red and he backed away from England, but he was still caught by his tie.

"Ohh...you're sho cute when you're confused..." England slurred as America managed to slip from his grasp.

"Wh-wh-what was that?" The American sputtered, wiping his mouth furiously.

"Mmmm...let's snog..."

"Let's what?"

"Snog..."

"What?"

"Kiss me, you git..."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I wanna make something longer, but I'm not making enough words come! It's rather bothersome, to be honest...**

**Skies Over London**

_**Chapter 3**_

"Oh ew no!" America cringed, backing away from the drunken Brit.

"It'sh not shuch a bleedin' bad idea..." England grinned, standing up.

"You're insane!"

"Mad as a hatter,"

"And you're hammered,"

"Drunk to boot,"

"And you keep saying weird things!"

"Only because I love you, Alfred,"

The American froze, his face as red as the stripes on his flag.

"Dude, what the hell have you been drinking?" He growled, trying to shrug off the last comment as nothing more than Arthur's drunken rambles.

"Jusht a bit of ale...though that last one tashted more like that vodka Rushashasha gave me when he came over..."

"When did Russia come over to _your_ house?" America scowled, a pang of jealousy seeding deep within him.

"Yeshterday. Oi, the lad shcares me shometimes, but he'sh great to drink with,"

"Why would Russia wanna visit you, though?" America mumbled, crossing his arms and scowling, like a child on the verge of throwing a trantrum.

"What? You think you're the only one who visitsh me, you git?"

"No, I just don't know why _Russia_, of all people—"

"It'sh my bloody birthday. Sho he brought me vodka," England snapped then took another sip off the bottle.

Alfred stopped a moment, pondering the date. No, it definitely was no today...was it? No, he would've remembered something like England's birthday. Right?

Then it suddenly clicked.

He'd decided to stay home yesterday and play that new zombie-shooter he'd been putting off. He remembered the phone had rung a couple times but he hadn't bothered to answer, lest he have to set down his burger. Burgers aren't good if they get cold, so he'd just left the phone to ring. Then today at the meeting, there was this weird feeling whenever anyone looked at him. Now it all made sense. He really had forgotten.

Alfred didn't know what to say to now. England had never forgotten his birthday, as he always loved to complain right up to the 4th, and even then he'd still wish him happy birthday, at the very least.

"I'm sorry..." He murmured after a moment, dropping his head.

"What?" England asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"I'm sorry,"

"For?"

"For forgetting..."

"Forgetting what?"

"For forgetting your birthday," America scowled. He felt bad enough as it was. England didn't have to go and make him feel worse.

"Oh, I don't care about _that_," England shrugged, "You alwaysh forget. You have every year,"

America stared at him in absolute shock, his face growing red. It seems he had apologized for absolutely nothing.

"Then why the hell are you mad at me?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Yep, so we're onto chapter 4! Woo! This one is a bit more serious than the other chapters...Arthur's more drunk on vodka here, rather than ale. I figured I'd try and add my own littler racist thing in here. Ale makes you derpy, vodka makes you aggressive. It'd explain my mom, anyway...**

**Skies Over London**

_**Chapter 4**_

Arthur's mind began to clear and only then did he notice the flustered look on the American's face, which he tried to mask but to no avail.

"Why do you assume I'm angry at you?" He sneered, setting down the empty bottle he'd been holding onto. The rhythm of the pouring rain outside crashing against the windowpane became the only sound as Alfred struggled to try and put together any kind of response to that.

"W-Well, what're you being so hostile for, then?" He retorted after a good, long moment of thought.

"We're at war. We have to be hostile at all times," England sighed, his eyes drifting toward the window.

"Not with you own allies!"

"Allies?" Alfred hissed, turning to him, "Codswallop! I'd call France my ally no more than you'd call Russia yours!"

America nearly shivered at the tone in England's voice. He sounded so cold and heartless. It was eerily familiar, but he couldn't recall where he'd heard someone speak like that.

"And I can't say China and I are on the best of terms," England continued, his voice still in that icy tone, "So that just leaves..."

England ran his gently finger over the mouth of the empty bottle, as if pondering where contents could have gone. It was only then that Alfred noticed the name on the label was written a strange language. It was one he couldn't make heads of tales of. There was no doubt in his mind. It was Russian.

"...just you an I,"

"Arthur, I—"

"Can we really call each other allies, I wonder? I wouldn't say we work well together, nor do we agree with one another. Not on anything, really. I might go so far as to say we don't even like each other,"

America stood frozen, whether by the mere shock of what England had just said to him, or by the coldness in which he had said it. England brought his hand over the cuff of his sleeve, letting his fingertips slowly run over the intricate stitching of his infamous red coat from the days of old, which still proudly wore the chest of the British Empire, just as it had all those years ago.

"Even now, you still only look out for yourself. You only recently joined in this war, even though its been going on for years. Even though thousands of your so-called allies' soldiers died. And even now that you have joined, its merely for your own personal reasons. Don't you ever think of anyone but yourself?"

In his moment of aggravation, Arthur's hand slipped and the bottle shattered, resulting in him with a cut on his hand.

"Ugh, bloody hell..." England mumbled as he pulled out a handkerchief and put it over his hand. America silently walked over to him and took his hand in his, kissing the cut gently.

"I think of you..."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This is it! The end of it all! And I'm quite surprised, to be honest, that I could ever finish a good little story like this. I never finish anything, it seems. Ah, well, after that fluffy ending yesterday, I couldn't resist giving you something sweet. So now you have something sweet _and _fluffy! Woo!**

**Skies Over London**

_**Chapter 5**_

The Brit's face turned red as America tended to the cut. He picked up a piece of the shattered glass from the bottle and held it over England's hand, letting a droplet of vodka that had clung to the inside of the bottle drip down onto the cut. England winced and bit his lip to endure the stinging as America took the handkerchief and neatly tied it around his hand. He finished it off with a gentle kiss over the cut.

England instinctively pull his hand away, his face growing hotter. He wasn't sure if it was his subconscious or the alcohol talking, but something made him speak without stopping even a second to consider the possible consequences.

"I...I love you, Alfred,"

"No need to thank me. I'm just doing my job. I _am_ the hero, afterall,"

"No, I mean it. I _love_ you,"

"Really, Iggy. You're welcome,"

"I'm serious, you git!"

"Hey, do you guys have a McDonald's here in the UK? I'm dying for a burger..."

"How the bloody hell can you be thinking about food right now?"

"Dude, I'm _always_ thinking about food,"

England sighed as he walked down the street to the local McDonald's. America wouldn't rest until he had a burger in his hand. While America had gotten his umbrella, England walked in the rain. He didn't mind. He was used to the rain. It rained almost everyday in the UK, after all. He glanced up at the gray sky that hung over London, which was sullen and dismal as ever, letting the rain wash over him in the hopes of quelling his growing hangover.

Suddenly, America grabbed his arm in a rough, tight grasp that was likely to bruise.

"Dude, you were about to walk into moving traffic!"

England looked at the road in front of them as a car zoomed by. He quickly looked down, annoyed that he'd gotten so distracted by something he saw everyday.

When the sign signaled that it was okay to cross traffic stopped. America looked over at him.

"In America, when we cross, we hold hands," He said with a grin, grabbing England's hand and dragging him across the road before he could protest.

"We're not _in _America," the Brit mumbled, his cheeks getting slightly pink. America didn't release his hand after they crossed, so he ended up wrenching his hand away.

"Ruddy git! What are you trying to do? Break my bloody hand?"

America just flashed him a mischievous smile. While England continued to scold him, America only laughed, making the Englishman get flustered and scold him more. He quietly walk on alongside England, his hand shoved in his pockets, pretending to listen to his lecture. His fingers ran over every detail of the old key he held tightly in his pocket, as if trying to hold onto the memories attached to it.

"_I love you, Alfred..."_

The words echoed in his mind, replaying over and over as if it were a record stuck on a loop. He'd known exactly what England had meant when he'd said it. He also knew he'd probably never say it again. America didn't mind, though. Once was enough for him, even if he'd only said it drunk.

"You too, Arthur," He mumbled with a smile.

"What's that?"

"Oh, nothing...nothing at all,"

"Th-There's a package f-for you..." Latvia stuttered, holding out the box to Russia, who quirked an eyebrow and took it as Latvia backed away.

He brought it over to the table, eying the excessive number of stamps that looked like hamburgers curiously. He picked up the note inside to read it, but it was written in strange shapes he didn't understand, so he set it aside. Under it was a rather large, inconspicuous bottle of Jack Daniels.


	6. Epilogue

**MMM YEAH! DELICIOUS EPILOGUE! WOO! ITS PARTY TIEM! YESSSS! I'm a git.**

**Skies Over London**

_**Epilogue Of Awesomeness**_

"Happy Birthday, l'Amerique," France said, as he set a bottle of wine in America's hands.

"Thanks, dude," America nodded, trying to look interested. His thoughts weren't on the wine or France, though. He was wondering where England was.

"Missing your little Angleterre?" France grinned coyly, wrapping his arm around America's shoulders.

"Who, England? N-No, I'm just thirsty...its pretty hot today," The American responded quickly as his face turned red.

"Oh, I can read you like a book," France snickered, "If you're so thirsty, why don't you have at that wine?"

"M-Maybe I will!"

"Go ahead,"

"Fine, I will,"

"I bet you can not drink the whole bottle,"

"I bet I can!"

"Why don't you prove it then?"

"You're on!"

If there was one thing, other than maybe burgers, that America couldn't resist, it was a challenge. Not even bothering for a glass, America uncorked the bottle and brought the mouth of it to his lips. He inhaled nearly half the bottle before stopping to take a breath. France stepped back in shock, or perhaps awe. As America set down the now empty bottle, France gave him a mischievous glance.

"Surely that was just luck,"

"Nope,"

"So you could do it again, no?"

America only responded with a grin as he grabbed a new and conveniently-placed bottle of wine.

"We'll see,"

A few bottles later, after several consistent results of America downing entire bottles in only two or three sips, it was certain. America had a gift.

"C'est magnifique," France said with a smirk. America nodded incoherently and hiccuped. This was the opportunity France had been waiting for.

"Oh, is that England?"

"Huh? Wh-Where?"

"Oh, it's just Estonia,"

"Damn!"

"You seem irritated, l'Amerique,"

"Where the hell ish England?"

"That, I do not know, mon ami,"

"H-He never forgetsh..."

"Perhaps he's busy?"

"W-Well can't he call?"

Far off in London, England was sitting in prison, his arms crossed.

"Of all the ruddy days to get locked up, it _had _to be today..." He grumbled as a shadow was cast over his cell.

"Well, well, well...if it isn't li'l England," A familiar voice chuckled. England shivered. It couldn't be him. _Anyone _but him. His eyes met his brother's in a very awkward silent moment. The guard opened the gate and, honestly, England wasn't sure if he wanted to leave.

"C'mon, Iggy," His brother grinned as England pulled himself to his feet. At the door, he was met with a cloud of cigar smoke, which nearly made him cough. He scowled as his brother's rough hand smacked his shoulder.

"Long time no see,"

"I suppose..."

"Aren't ya excited to see yer big brother?"

"Sure..."

That was a lie. He dreaded seeing his brothers.

"I heard ya got put in for—"

"Listen, Scotland, I have to go. I'm late to be somewhere,"

"Oh? An' where do ya have to be so quick that ya can't even say 'ello to yer own brother?"

England hesitated a moment, but figured if it would get Scotland off his back, it couldn't hurt to tell him.

"I'm going to see America. It's his birthday,"

"Oh alright, then I'll tag along,"

Scotland glanced over at his brother, who made sure to keep an open seat between the two of them on the bus. England's face was set in a look of irritation and distain. Scotland sighed. It was going to be a _long _trip.

Back in the United States Of Awesome, France was having the time of his life.

"Sho we went to get shome burgersh, and I totally saved hish live!" America shouted, pointing at China.

"Me, aru?"

"I think he means England, da?" Russia said as he leered down at China, who slowly started to walk away.

"Oui, oui! And then what?" France giggled, relishing all the wonderful things America was telling him that he could use to make England suffer.

"Oi, frog. What're ya two talking about?" Scotland called from across the room, much to England's chagrin. He'd been hoping for a discreet, silent entrance so, hopefully, no one would notice his late arrival.

"Bloody git.." He murmured, as France shot him a grin.

"Oh, we were just discussing your little _adventures_ from this spring," Francis smirked, almost unable to contain his joy.

"What adventures, you git?" England quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh, just this and that..."

"Why're you late?" America said suddenly, waving his arm and hitting Canada by accident.

"I got held up," England grunted,

"The git was in prison,"

"Onhonhon! You naughty boy! What'd you do?"

"I didn't do a bloody thing, frog! Why don't you go sod off?"

"Oh, l'Angleterre, you're breaking my heart! Tell big brother France!"

"They told me he got—"

"We're not going to discuss this!"

As the three Europeans continued to bicker, no one noticed America walk over. Well, Canada did, but nobody could hear him.

"Iggy! I thought you weren't gonna come! I wash sho shad!" Alfred said as he grabbed England and pulled him into an embrace. Arthur's face went red as France and Scotland stared at them silently.

"Y-You git! Get off me!"

"I misshed you..."

"Ugh, let go of me, Alfred!"

Against the Brit's pleas, America only pulled him closer, so his chin was resting on England's forehead.

"Alfred!" England squeaked, his face getting hotter as he felt Scotland and France's stares stabbing into his back.

"Don't ever leave me again," America whispered in his ear.

"What's all this?" Scotland asked, looking over at France, who was smiling dreamily.

"Ah...L'Amour..."

"Wait, what?"

America brought his head down so his eyes were level with England's, which made him blush furiously, as if he could blush anymore.

"You git...what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" He hissed as he tried to break free of the American's grasp, but to no avail.

"I love you,"

"Wh-what? Are you daft?"

"I'm sherioush,"

"Alfred, this is not the time for your immature jokes—"

"I love you, Arthur. I really do,"

England froze, his mind going blank. He couldn't find any words to form. What kind of response could he possibly give to that? Only one came to mind.

"I...I love you too, Alfred,"

America grinned and pulled England even closer.

"That'sh 'cause I'm the hero..." He mumbled before pressing his lips against England's in the awesomest kiss of all time.


End file.
